SEVEN    STARS 

CLARE    SHIPMAN 


GIFT   OF 


SEVEN  STARS 

AND  OTHER 

POEMS 

By  CLARE  SHIPMAN 


JOHN  J.  NEWBEGIN 

SAN  FRANCISCO 

M  CM  XVIII 


Copyright 

CLARE  SHIPMAN 
San  Franciico,  1918 


TO  HER  IN  THE  INVISIBLE 


385033 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
FOREWORD  vii 


TO   HER    IN   THE   INVISIBLE 


THE    SUN 4 

THE   BLAZED   TRAIL 6 

ASCENSION 7 

PEACE 8 

MARCH  FILIGREE 9 

THE   MOON 10 

IN  A  TROPIC  GARDEN 12 

TO    JULIE 13 

MERCURY 14 

SEA-GULLS IS 

THE   DESTROYING  ANGEL 16 

FROM   SEA  TO    SEA 17 

VENUS 19 

THE  QUEST  ETERNAL 20 

VALENTINE 22 

THE    TORCH 23 

THE  HOMING  PIGEON 24 

DOGWOOD 25 

MARS 26 

IRIS 28 

BALLAD    TO    FRANCE      .......  29 

JUPITER 33 

GOLD  HEART 35 

ON  A  PORTRAIT  OF  THE  YOUNG  EARL  OF  C .  36 

THE    ISLAND    KING  37 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

SATURN 38 

TO  MY  POET  FRIEND 39 

LINES    ON   A   GOLDEN   WEDDING         ....  40 

THE  BLANKET-MEN  ON  THE  HIGHWAY     ...  41 

DUSK 42 

DAWN 42 

URANUS 43 

PARADOX 45 

THE    CUP 46 

INTEGER   VITAE 47 

NEPTUNE 48 

THE  GUEST 51 

NAMASTA 52 

UPLANDS 54 

TO    ANY    GALAHAD 55 

THE    BEDOUIN    IN    THE   DESERT          ....  56 

OUT  OF  THE  MISTS 57 

SEA  VOICES 59 

ALLEN    SEELEN 61 

SILENCE 62 

MOUNTAIN  LILAC 63 

WILD    FORGET-ME-NOTS 64 

LOBELIA 65 

CHELA 67 

ST.    JOSEPH'S    LILY 68 

THE  URGE 69 

TO  A  LITTLE  BOY  GROWN  UP 70 

CHIMES 71 

SONG   OF   CANDLE-LIGHT 72 

TO  BENNIE  ON  ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY    ....  73 

SONG 74 

TO    MY    COMRADE-AT-ARMS 75 

vi 


FOREWORD. 

It  seems  at  this  time  as  if  the  world  has  swung  around 
to  the  ancient  language  of  symbols.  We  have  always 
had  them,  indeed,  but  in  process  of  time  their  spirits 
departed  and  left  them  as  husks  on  our  hands,  and  even 
prodigals  in  far  countries  of  materialistic  thought  and 
conduct  eventually  lose  interest  in  husks.  The  letter 
profits  nothing  without  the  quickening  spirit.  How  many 
custodians  of  that  sacred  symbol,  the  square  and  the 
compass,  are  able  to  relate  it  inwardly  to  the  soul  of  the 
race?  Has  the  swing  of  the  Gothic  arch,  or  the  color 
of  Mary's  azure  cloak  a  living  place  in  the  life  of  the 
church  adherent?  Do  attributes  in  his  soul  answer  to 
the  apocryphal  signs  of  the  Man,  the  Lion,  the  Eagle 
and  the  Bull,  carved  upon  his  altar  panels? 

The  forever  defensive  theologian  does  not  often  put  into 
his  discourse  the  esoteric  lesson  of  the  streets  of  gold,  the 
gates  of  pearl,  or,  to  go  back  to  the  old  dispensation,  of 
Egypt,  Moses's  rod,  the  Red  Sea  and  Canaan.  But 
these  things,  as  the  wise  Paul  said  of  some  other  things, 
"are  an  allegory."  Truth  shines  her  light  upon  friend 
and  foe  alike  and  needs  neither  defense  nor  argument. 
The  cobra  cap  of  the  Buddha  may  reveal  the  same 
truth  as  the  serpent  of  Egypt,  and  the  Lotus  upon  which 
he  dreams,  the  ineffable  message  of  the  Easter  lily. 

Back  in  the  ancient  days  of  inner  wisdom  there  came 
flashes  of  understanding  revealed  in  myths,  legends, 
fables  and  fairy  lore.  The  Devas  of  the  Hindoos,  the 
Daimons  of  the  Greeks,  the  Divinities  of  the  Romans 
and  the  Angels  of  the  Hebrews  all  prove  the  groping  of 
the  soul  of  the  race  of  mankind  to  connect  with  its 
source,  or  with  the  abstract,  hidden  realm  of  the  Spirit. 

vii 


The  subconscious  streams  of  tradition  came  out  of  a 
fundamental  truth  of  being,  that  the  changeless  Infinite 
and  indivisible  Source,  being  a  Unit,  forever  expresses 
itself  in  diversity  and  is  equal  to  the  sum  of  all  its  at 
tributes. 

The  poems  on  the  planets  are  written  with  the  basic 
idea  that  each  individual  is  a  microscopic  pattern  of  the 
universe,  and  that  within  him,  potentially  or  expressed, 
is  all  that  lies  without.  The  ultimate  destiny  of  the 
race-man  is  to  bring  into  expression,  through  evolution, 
the  Grand  Man,  the  Universal  or  Christ  principle,  God 
Incarnate  in  the  Son. 

The  sun,  the  center  of  the  solar  system,  being  the 
source  of  all  life,  is  the  outer  sign  of  the  invisible  God, 
the  image,  as  it  were,  by  which  the  sun  worshipper 
hoped  to  connect  with  his  source.  In  the  life  of  the 
individual,  the  sun  would  be  the  Son,  the  Soul, 
the  Self.  The  moon,  called  by  the  ancients  the  "mir 
ror,"  would  be  the  outer  or  objective  mind  or  intellect, 
having  no  light  or  wisdom  of  its  own,  but  reflecting 
merely  the  one  mind,  "common  to  all  men." 

Mercury  is  the  inner  or  intuitive  faculty  of  mind 
which  would  seem  apart  from  reason,  flying  where  it 
will  upon  its  spirit  wings.  Its  truth  is  ever  consistent 
with  reason,  but  its  source  deeper.  Venus  is  that  qual 
ity  of  grace  in  Man's  soul  which  discerns  and  compre 
hends  the  beautiful,  and  so  brings  order  out  of  chaos, 
turning  angles  into  the  rhythmic  curve  which  is  receptive, 
subjective  and  feminine.  Mars  is  her  opposite  pole 
in  consciousness,  the  warrior,  the  masculine  creative  prin 
ciple,  passionate,  bold,  the  positive  and  constructive  in 
art,  when  functioning  in  his  true  place. 

viii 


Jupiter,  magnanimous  and  benign,  is  also  diffusive, 
expansive,  generous  and  the  dispenser  of  good  gifts, 
holding  good  luck  in  his  right  hand.  Saturn  in  the  Cos 
mos  corresponds  to  the  outer  realm  of  the  physical  and 
is  called  the  "first  born"  because  farthest  in  expression 
from  the  center.  Also  he  is  called  the  guardian  of  the 
outer  gate,  the  ruler  of  the  world  of  matter,  standing 
with  scythe  and  hour  glass  at  that  mystical  point  where 
cause  and  effect  meet.  He  is  seldom  loved  or  wel 
comed  because  he  is  the  law,  the  Reaper.  Old,  fixed, 
slow  of  movement,  because  first  born,  he  is,  in  the  indi 
vidual,  Destiny.  He  releases  through  the  outer  gate 
that  initiate  only  who  is  strong  enough  to  be  at  one  with 
him  and  know  his  majesty. 

Uranus  and  Neptune  are  of  but  recent  discovery  and 
would  seem  to  be  prophetic  of  new  faculties  of  mind  to 
come.  Uranus  is  the  power  of  occult  discernment  and 
is  called  the  Knower,  the  unveiler  of  Truth.  Its  action 
is  to  tear  away  delusions  at  any  cost,  and  remove 
hindrances  to  spiritual  growth,  no  matter  how  dear  the 
false  gods  have  become.  The  throne  of  Uranus  is  at 
that  point  in  understanding  where  opposites  meet  and  are 
seen  to  be  one. 

Neptune  stands  for  the  hidden  Christ,  or  Sonship  un- 
manifest.  It  is  nebulous  in  character  and  not  understood 
of  the  world,  like  the  subtle  overtones  of  the  music  of 
sweet  strings,  vague  and  uncomprehended  by  the  material 
mind.  Folded  within  its  character  lie  all  the  secrets  of 
the  mystics  of  the  ages. 

All  qualities,  normally  expressed,  are  good.  Only 
when  they  are  deflected  or  disproportioned  may  they 
appear,  to  surface  analysis,  evil.  Through  the  under 
standing  of  true  values,  the  laws  of  balance,  as  applied 

ix 


to  consciousness,  the  primal  edict  which  pronounced  all 
things  very  good,  shall  manifest.  The  seven  planets 
have  been  compared  to  seven  lamps  swinging  forever 
before  the  sun  god's  throne,  or  to  the  seven  prismatic 
rays,  which,  when  combined,  form  the  white  light  of 
the  sun  and  are  never  really  apart,  save  in  expression, 
but  each  an  attribute  of  the  One. 

This  One  is  All.  I  am  no  pagan  or  pantheist  setting 
forth  false  gods,  but  recognizing  merely  that  through 
the  understanding  of  our  own  complexities  and  qualities 
we  may,  through  consecration  of  will,  evolve  and  unify 
them  and  so  stand  forth  as  Sons,  not  servants  in  bonds. 

The  miscellaneous  poems  in  this  book  are  grouped 
under  the  heads  of  the  planets  which  they  seem  to  man 
ifest  in  quality.  r  Q 

\^*  d. 

San  Francisco. 


SEVEN   STARS 


o 


TO  HER  IN  THE  INVISIBLE. 

MOST   beloved,  how  is  it  possible 

The  heart  of  me  should  feel  that  I  have  lived 

Ever  one  hour  without  you, 
Into  whose  life  my  life  was  woven  at  first 
As  but  a  tiny  leaf  in  a  design! 
How  could  the  woof  remain  with  warp  withdrawn? 

You  have  not  gone! 

You  have  not  gone,  since  I  would  cease  to  be. 
You,  you  and  I  were  threaded  firm  and  close, 

Into  the  fabric  Life! 

Back  in  the  dawn  of  days  your  face  was  there, 

One  with  the  sunrise; 
One  with  soft  coverlids  in  the  cool  dark. 
The  last  sound  of  the  day  some  trailing  note 
Of  your  low-singing  voice  in  the  white  sails 

Of  drifting  sleep. 

Unchanging  love  has  not  forgotten  how 
The  fine,  white  sinew  of  yourself  you  wove 
Into  the  little  buttonholes,  and  edge 
Of  sheer  and  misty  garments  that  I  wore, 
And  how  you  smoothed  and  folded  them  away 
Under  the  lamplight  of  the  ended  day. 

Only  through  your  eyes  did  I  see  at  first 
The  sombre  beauty  of  red  autumn  leaves 

Wet  with  October  rain, — 
The  bitter-sweet  solemnity  of  pain, 

1 


Or  the  joy-thrill  of  rising  sap  astir 

In  the  moist  trunks  of  maples  when  the  world 

Believed  that  it  was  locked  in  winter-time. 

The  watchful  tenderness  and  thrift  that  kept 

Glowing  with  bloom  the  little,  even  row 

Of  growing  things  upon  the  window  sill, 

0  that, — I  hear  you  laugh  when  I  have  said 
That  diligence,  I  never  made  my  own. 
You  took  so  sweetly  all  my  wayward  faults 

That  must  have  wounded  deep,  had  you  loved  less. 

1  would  not  wrong  your  unchained  spirit  now 
With  thoughts  too  sad,  which  was  so  often  glad 
As  larks  and  linnets  and  bright  butterflies, 

With  thoughts  that  played  like  sun-darts  on  the  face 
Of  mountain  streams. 

The  rush  of  rain  upon  the  roof  at  night 

I  hear  now,  even  in  sleep,  because  you  loved 

The  rhythm  of  the  rain. 

All,  all  you  lived  and  loved  and  felt  made  glow 
For  me  the  hidden  song  that  latent  lies 
In  everything,  like  the  internal  fires 

Within  the  breast  of  Earth. 
Until  I  too,  caught  fire  with  that  divine 
And  nameless  thing  which  lit  you, 
Incarnate  as  the  poetry  of  life. 


And  then  your  selflessness  opened  wide  arms 
And  let  me  free  upon  my  own  far-faring. 
If  I  kept  faith  with  Courage  on  the  way 
It  was  the  loaf  of  truth  you  shared  with  me 
On  which  I  fed  my  strength  as  with  the  fire 
Of  your  strong  spirit. 

If  I  have  learned  the  magic  of  Love's  way 

It  is  your  deathless  love  loving  again. 

Did  you  not  give  your  all,  and  is  it  strange 

Passion  for  service,  urge  of  high  endeavor 

Should  break  to  flame,  when  fire  is  touched  by  fire? 

And  so  it  is  impossible  for  me, 

Most  dearly  loved,   to  think  I  ever  live 

One  little  hour  without  you,  who  have  been, 

With  strong  hands  and  true  voice,  this  long  time  still. 

All  I  shall  build  and  bind  and  hold  of  good, 

Is  yours  to  take  again  because  you  gave — 

Life  infinite,  good  indivisible, 

This,  most  beloved,  your  immortality. 


JANUARY,    1916. 


o 


THE  SUN. 

The    Sun   of   Righteousness    shall    rise,    with   healing   in   His   wings. 

GOD  OF  PERFECT  DAY,  shine  on  our  sorrow 
As  on  the  seven  swinging  spheres  you  shine! 

We  wait,  as  Thou  hast  waited,  for  a  morrow 
That  still  must  glow,  on  every  world  of  Thine. 

Rise  swift  in  us,  who  let  the  night  possess  us! 

Before  our  tomb  stands  sealed  the  graven  stone. 
Though  long  the  night  of  ignorance  oppress  us, 

We  are  Thy  sons,  and  Thou  art  God  alone. 

O  teach  us  life  who  art  the  One  Life  only! 

The  meaning  of  its  sacramental  flame, 
And  that  we  have  a  heritage  of  Christhood, 

And  that  we  wear,  e'en  now,  Thy  Holy  Name! 

Though  we  forget  Thee,  yet  there  broods  Thy  patience; 

We  curse  and  slay,  and  still  Thy  love  endures. 
O  God  of  Day,  the  world's  pain  is  its  penance; 

Then  guard  and  keep  them,  whom  the  darkness  lures! 

The  sweet  and  sunlit,  fragrant  earth  Thou  gave  us 
We've   bought   and   sold,    and   dyed    and   drenched 
it  red, 

And  Thou  alone  hast  any  power  to  save  us, 
Who  let  each  other  perish,  wanting  bread! 


We  know,  yea,  God,  we  know  that  there  are  children 
Born  in  the  flesh,  of  Thee,  a  tragic  brood, 

Wearing  our  life,  and  Thine,  the  common  Father, 
Who  never  know  Earth's  tender  motherhood! 

Hunted  they  go,  and  by  the  wolf  of  hunger, 
Blurred  with  sin's  fingermark,  unloved,  misspent. 

We  meet  them  on  the  highway,  God  of  Mercy, 
And  pass  them  by,  our  own,  and  we  consent! 


What  is  our  solace,  but  that  Thou  art  mighty! 

To  Thee,  worlds  come  and  go  as  human  tears, 
And  live  and  crumble,  stars  to  dust  returning. 

Thy  light  is  on  the  seven  swinging  spheres! 


LA  JOLLA,  JULY   31,   1915. 


i 


THE  BLAZED  TRAIL. 

SAW  the  sun  go  down,  go  down, 
To  walk  the  purple  sea. 

Wearing  a  shining,  glorious  crown. 

About  his  head  a  glow  like  One 
Who  walked  on  Gallilee. 

A  milk-white  cloud  his  seamless  robe, 

Woven  of  drifting  fleece. 
A  moment  on  the  ocean's  rim 

He  floods  the  world  with  peace. 
I  saw  a  molten  trail  of  light, 

His  path  upon  the  sea. 
As  gleaming  down  the  Ages*  night, 
The  feet  of  One  flash  burning-bright, 

Through  Man's  mortality. 


ASCENSION. 

THERE  is  no  hour  the  soul  may  close  its  sight 
To  life  unbroken,  for  when  action  ends 

It  is  as  if  one  note  the  player  spends 
Is  caught  into  the  next,  where  motives  rise 
And  so  repeat  themselves  an  octave  higher. 

Only  the  foolish  halt  and  think  work  done. 

Nothing  is  finished,  every  thread  leads  on, 
And  though  the  weak  may  fight,  the  strong  may  tire, 

The  bright  wheel  swings,  with  all  its  gleaming  stars, 

Nor  life  nor  death,  free  wing  nor  prison  bars 
Have  power  to  stay  the  rhythm  of  its  way. 

Inviolate  Life  ascends  till  themes  repeat, 

High,  in  clean,  wind-swept  towers  of  past  defeat, 
Chiming,  as  morning  stars  sing  of  the  day. 


T 


PEACE. 

OSSING  cypress  boughs, 
Black,  tasseled  cypress  boughs 

And  fringed  willow, 

With  tender  leaves  of  pale,  translucent  light, 
And  flowering  currant,  lovely  burning  bush, 

Ablaze  with  God, — 
Here  on  my  periwinkle  bed 
Smelling  fresh  stems  and  leaves, 
I  let  my  soul  slip  out  and  walk 
The  waters  of  this  still  lagoon, 
Trailing  her  garments  of  sweet  peace, 
Singing  her  praise  for  this  brief  hour 
Of  sunlit  silence,  where  Love  lives, 

And  perfect  rhythm. 

Only  the  winds  are  restless, 

Flinging  a   chill   like  bright,   quick   laughter. 

But  close  against  the  earth  breast 

There  are  fortitude  and  warmth. 
The  glowing,  steadfast  pulse  of  faith  beats  high. 
Somewhere  within  the  inner  realms  of  God, 
Well-being  rests  her  tranquil  arms 

Upon  her  mother-breast, 
And  guards  the  world  from  its  own  fallacies. 


8 


o 


MARCH  FILIGREE. 

SILVER  world  of  silver  light! 

O  new  day,  fresh,  unspoiled  and  fair! 
Grasses  are  woven  crystal  lace, 

West  winds  sway  jeweled  boughs  in  air. 

O  blinding  light  on  snow-filled  meadows— 
White  fields  stretch  to  the  osage  hedge, 

Swaying  its  top  to  icy  music. 

A  red  bird  calls  above  the  sedge. 

Sheathed  cherry  boughs  in  shining  armor, 
A  flash  of  wings  across  the  blue, 

To  gem-tipped  briar  and  grassy  tangle, 
With  silver  thread  all  woven  through. 

Warm  courage  in  the  robin's  breast, 
For  frozen  worlds,  a  moment  long. 

Trumpeter  of  sweet  April-time, 
He  flings  his  prophesy  of  song. 


o 


THE  MOON. 

LIGHT  O*  LOVE,  O  little  feather  moon, 

Pale  as  white  roses  are. 
Flung  in  the  harsh  light  of  the  summer  noon 

Above  the  hill-tops  far. 

Frail,  and  so  light  and  thin, 

Tossed  on  the  ocean  sky, 
With  no  port  to  come  in, 

With  not  a  harbor  by. 

O  little  vagrant  moon, 

Fragile  and  useless  thing, 
Tossed  in  a  waste  of  worlds, 

Frayed  from  a  passing  wing. 


And  now  she  wears  a  burnished  silver  band. 

Beauty  hath  found  her  as  her  days  have  grown. 
And  in  the  youthful  dreams  of  twilight  land, 

She  claims  a  vision  which  is  not  her  own. 

Only  in  romance  skies  of  make-believe, 

When  the  soft,  velvet  dark  enwraps  the  soul, 

May  borrowed  light,  masking  as  truth,  deceive, 
As  holy  fire  the  false  Prometheus  stole. 

10 


And  she  is  false  if  she  shall  claim  to  reign 
Even  at  the  magic  hour  she  climbs  her  height, 

The  jeweled  planets  in  her  splendid  train, 
Sweeping  her  royal  pomp  across  the  night. 


And  she  is  true  when  she  shall  serving  stand, 
Meek,  girded  hand-maid  of  the  lowly  soul, 

Holding  all  cleansed  and  empty  in  her  hand. 

Rimmed  to  full  circle,  her  bright,  burnished  bowl; 

Seeing  before  her  face  no  path  to  tread 

But  the  white  orbit  of  the  sun  god's  way. 

Knowing  no  light  but  his  upon  her  head, 

His  sea  of  silver,  from  her  chalice  shed, 

Until  night's  empty  cup  brims  with  the  day. 


11 


N 


IN  A  TROPIC  GARDEN. 

OT  cold  and  distant  stars,  but  close  and  warm 
As  gleaming  jewels  upon  a  dear-loved  throat, 
Such  are  the  smiling  stars  above  my  Islands, 
Dipping  their  rays  into  the  languorous  waves 
That  run  upon  the  coral  from  the  warm  sea. 

Not  moonlight  cold,  but  a  soft,  liquid  silver 

Dripping  from  tips  of  palm  leaves, 

Flooding  upon  the  garden, 

Pouring  a  silent  glory  and  a  glamor 

On  the  Soul,  until  it  knows  the  face 

Of  Beauty  in  her  holiness  laid  bare. 

Spirit  of  Beauty  Visible!     Such  is  the  face  of  God! 

And  God  walks  in  the  garden  in  the  coolness  of  the  day, 

And  time  is  not,  nor  age,  nor  hate,  nor  death. 


OAHU,    1917. 


12 


TO  JULIE. 

JIKE  petals  of  white  roses, 
Soft  footprints  in  the  snow, 
Or  spray  of  early  starlight, 

Or  surf  with  light  aglow. 
Like  breasts  of  tender  winged  things, 

Or  sheen  of  frost-spun  lace, 
Come  memories  and  memories 

Of  moonlight  on  your  face. 
The  cool,  sweet  rush  of  palm  leaves, 

Strange  shadows  on  the  grass, 
Beyond,  the  waiting  desert, 

The  blue  night  swinging  past, 
The  hush  of  waning  summer, 

Warm  frankincense  of  bloom, 
I  build  of  these,  for  memories, 

A  vast   and  vaulted  room. 


13 


H 


MERCURY. 

ALF  god  and  half  mortal  I  seemed, 
And  the  mortal  was  craven,  and  veered 

At  the  vast  of  the  unknown  abyss. 

The  granite  is  sound  to  the  feet  of  the  mortal, 

And  real  is  the  Earth-mother's  kiss. 
It  was  the  unknown  that  I  feared. 

The  Lord  of  my  being  did  promise  me  wings 
Should  I  leap  from  the  lap  of  strong,  external  things, 
And  I  dared,  and  the  God  bore  me  up  with  his  arm, 
And  I  flew  in  the  wide,  windy  sky! 

As  the  light  of  the  star  and  the  glow-worm  is  one, 
The  flame  at  the  heart  of  the  atom  went  free, 

Unchained  to  return  to  its  home  in  the  sun, 
Self-conscious,  to  choose  and  to  be! 

No  darkness  dismays  him  who  flames  his  own  light. 
I  make  the  abyss  to  appear  as  the  height. 
I  speed,  and  the  span  of  my  God-given  flight 

Binds  the  earth  to  the  Spirit  of  things. 

I  flash  in  the  glance,  of  pure,  star-lifted  eyes, 

I  swing  with  the  fairness  and  grace  of  the  morn. 

To  my  penetrant  sight  matter's  veil  of  disguise 
Is  rent  and  man's  freedom  is  born. 

14 


D 


SEA-GULLS. 

O  YOU  remember  how  they  drifted  out 

Into  the  wide  infinity  of  sky, 
Without  a  quickened  tremor  of  the  wings, 

Free  of  their  moorings,  brave  and  silently? 
Do  you  remember  how  they  drifted  out 

From  the  black  cliffs,  into  the  rain  and  mist, 
Above  the  fretted  sea,  so  safe,  so  high, 

Their  flight  unmeasured,  pathless  and  unguessed! 


15 


THE  DESTROYING  ANGEL. 

A  RROWS  of  light,  arrows  of  light! 
•**These  are  the  shafts  that  I  hurl  through  the  night! 
Straight  as  the  archer's  eye  wooeth  the  mark, 
Swifter  than  meteors  piercing  the  dark. 
What  power  shall  stay  their  miraculous  flight, 
Arrows  of  infinite  light! 

Measureless  gleams  from  the  Spirit's  white  ray, 
These  are  the  beams  that  I  speed  through  the  day! 
Sure  as  the  wings  of  the  morning  arise, 
Strong  as  the  light  on  the  dreamer's  closed  eyes, 
What  flesh  shall  bar  the  Omnipotent  beam, 
Smiter  of  pain's  troubled  dream! 


16 


FROM  SEA  TO  SEA. 

*URZY  glens  and  brooks  and  maples, 

Beech  tree  forests,  still  and  sweet, 
With  their  golden  garments  fallen, 

Airy  skirts,  about  their  feet, 
Stacked  corn  like  brown  wigwams  standing, 

Feathered  broom-sedge,  fallow  field, 
Shafts  of  light  through  slanting  orchards, 

Stripped  of  summer's  fragrant  yield. 
Cotton  fields  and  young  pine  forests, 

Still,  deep  rivers,  silver  rain, 
Live  oaks  green  and  strong  and  vital, 

And  the  flaming  sun  again. 
Bayous  and  the  night-black  cypress, 

Woods  knee-deep  in  crystal  pool, 
Trailing  lichens  fringed  and  lace-like, 

Cloth  of  gold  and  shadows  cool. 
Sunrise  through  the  waiting  tree-trunks, 

Velvet  plains  of  springing  wheat, 
Resting  orchards,   feeding  cattle, 

Where  the  sky  and  grasses  meet. 
Brown,  parched  plains,  repeating  over 

Thirst,  to  the  unanswering  sky. 
Swift  the  wild  hare's  run  to  cover. 

And  the  white  stars  going  by. 
Shadows  in  the  purple  canyons, 

And  the  white  light  on  the  trails. 

17 


Free  the  wind,  the  cloud,  the  distance, 

Clear  the  rhythm  of  the  rails! 
Down  the  long  sides  of  the  mountain, 

Where  the  firs  wear  purple  light, 
Deep  into  the  forest  vistas 

Till  the  hiding,  folding  night. 
Plains  of  green  and  fenced-in  cities, 

Pungent  scent  of  pepper  tree, — 
Swift  as  wind  clouds  I  am  running 

To  the  sea,  Love,  to  the  sea! 
And  the  world  Love's  wings  encompass, 

Mountain,  river,  forest,  plain, 
Lies  within  your  strong  heart's  cover. 

Back  to  you  I  come  again! 


18 


A 


VENUS. 

RT  THOU  but  flesh  of  pearl,  the  tint  of  shell, 
Form  perfected,  born  of  the  formless  sea? 

Revealed  and  visioned  side  of  abstract  Love, 
The  thing  men  blind  adore,  or  hating  flee? 


Wear  you  at  times  a  strange  and  sordid  guise 
Woven  of  misery  and  cankering  lust? 

The  prisoned  Self  within  your  languored  eyes, 
As  lilies  bruised  and  broken  in  the  dust. 


O  Beauty,  Color,  Form,  the  senses  leap! 

But  the  still,  brooding  Spirit  answers  thee 
As  though  the  Deep  had  called  unto  the  deep 

To  yield  its  dead  and  set  its  prisoners  free. 

O  Love,  thine  arms  but  lure  the  soul  at  last 
Adown  the  spiral  of  swift-winging  years, 

And  point  the  inner  portal,  strong  and  fast, 
Which  opens  when  one  Guest  alone  appears. 

The  heart  is  made  into  an  open  sky. 

Beyond  the  realm  of  good  and  evil  things, 
And  joy  and  tears,  glowing  and  lifted  high. 

One  stands,  where  slow  the  silver  crescent  swings, 
Her  gleaming  head  all  diademed  with  stars, 
Her  azure  cloak  wrapping  the  gaunt  earth's  scars. 

19 


B 


THE   QUEST   ETERNAL. 

To   G.    M.    W. 
EAUTY  Divine,  so  long  we  have  pursued! 

See  how  the  vanquished,  stricken  Ages  lie. 
Lamenting  in  their  ashes,  spent  and  old, 

Where  open,  empty  arches  frame  the  sky. 
So  brief  your  reign,  so  swift  your  passing  by. 

Your  radiant  hour,  departing,  left  them  cold, 
Save  for  a  dear  caress  upon  old  walls, 
Or  saffron  sunlight,  wrapping  where  it  falls 

Some  crumbling  column,  turning  it  to  gold. 

Still   down   your   age-long   corridors  we   come, 

Pursuing  eagerly  your  fleeting  pace. 
Beyond  a  bend  of  vistaed  colonnade 

Longing  to  glimpse  your  sweet,  averted  face. 
Ever  within  your  labyrinths  of  peace 

We  trace  with  broken  ray  your  fragrant  lure, 
Braving  the  gulfs  of  barrenness  and  dearth, 

With  hearts  afire,  with  footsteps  winged  and  sure. 
Until  a  sudden,  holy  light  shall  flame 

Out  of  a  vaster  height,  a  loftier  span, 
Piercing  at  last  our  holden,  straining  sight, 

Revealing  you  within  the  heart  of  Man. 
And  we  shall  see  you  plainly  through  the  mire 

Of  that  which  binds  and  covers  tender  things. 
Above  the  place  of  effort  meekly  spent, 

Shall  know  the  brooding  presence  of  your  wings. 

20 


And  when  you  reach  to  us  a  hallowed  hand, 
Shall  we  not  feel  it  work-worn  flesh  and  bone? 

Your  broken  guise  shall  fall  and  you  shall  claim 
Our  weary  questing,  even  as  your  own. 

Beauty  Divine,  Eternal  One  who  lies 
Wistful  and  fair,  in  the  pursuer's  eyes, 
Yet  shall  we  feel  the  glow  of  your  embrace, 
Yet  shall  you  turn  and  know  us  face  to  face. 


Looking  through  Exposition  Arches. 


JANUARY  10,  1916. 


21 


VALENTINE. 

F\EAREST,  are  wind-flowers  glad  when  melts  the  snow? 
••-^When  Winter  comes  do  swallows  southward  go? 


Do  roses  scent  the  drowzing  days  of  June? 
When  the  leaves  fall  do  robins  hush  their  tune? 

Do  winter  woods  long  for  their  leaves  again? 
Do  thirsty  flower-lips  drink  the  Summer  rain? 

Do  prisoned  moths  crave  wings  of  butterflies? 
Do  meadows  smile  when  daffodils  arise? 

And  if  you  know  the  answer,  Love  of  mine, 
Would  I,   O  would   I  be  your  Valentine? 


22 


THE  TORCH. 

«RUST  you  to  Love  and  never  think  to  fear  him. 
Follow  you  close  the  light  of  his  white  flame. 
The  trail  is  safe,  his  lamp  is  trimmed  and  burning. 
Hold  you  the  password  of  his  Holy  Name. 

Love's  lamp  is  filled  with  smokeless  oil  of  gladness. 

Love  holds  his  beacon  high  when  hearts  are  true. 
Trust  Love,  the  trail  is  safe,  the  way  is  shining. 

Believe  in  Love,  who  burns  the  light  for  you. 


23 


THE  HOMING  PIGEON. 

k     HOMING  pigeons  wing  them  home 
Straight  to  your  roomy  heart  I  come! 
And  you  dream  not  how  very  far, 
Unbounded  by  the  farthest  star, 
Such  love  as  yours  can  stretch  away, 
Out  to  the  borders  of  the  day, 
Beyond  the  purple  fringe  of  night 
Wings  love  like  yours  so  warm  and  white! 
It  wraps  me  in  a  robe  of  fleece, 
It  makes  the  sound  of  heart-storms  cease. 
As  homing  pigeons  wing  them  home, 
Straight  to  your  roomy  heart  I  come. 


24 


M 


DOGWOOD. 

ILK-WHITE  spray  on  the  forest  bough, 

The  fragrant  year  is  young. 
White  hearts  touch  beneath  the  bloom, 
Eagerly  Love's  feet  seek  room 
Anemones  among. 

Blithest  notes  blow  down  the  wind. 

The  nimbus  of  the  spring 
Folds  the  forest  glade  in  mist, 
Emerald  and  amethyst, 

Sweet  and  shimmering. 

White  spray  on  the  forest  bough, 

White  stars  of  the  world, 
Lift  Love  into  silent  things, 
The  only  sounds  are  stirring  wings 

And  new-born  leaves  uncurled. 


25 


MARS. 


,\  NGEL  of  Action,  god  of  all  brute  strength, 
**Master  of  souls,  snared  on  the  sea  of  Sense, 
Caught  in  thy  maelstrom  of  malevolence, 
Shall  they  an  harbor  find, 
Beaten  and  blind? 


As  every  whirling  storm  hath  one  still  place 
At  its  true  center,  so  within  me  lies 
Unslumbering,  the  calm  of  watching  eyes, 

As  One  who  moves  upon  the  waters'  face. 

Call  me  then  friend,  whose  fires  have  fused  the  stone, 
Mountain  and  furrow,  strong,  creative  One! 
My  shining  armor  and  the  splendid  gleam 

Of  mailed  arms,  streamers  of  red  desire, 
Flashing  upon  the  weak  and  strong  alike, 

But  kindle  life  to  sacramental  fire. 

Call  me  then  mighty  friend,  nor  name  me  foe. 

Take  of  my  strength  and  meet  me  as  mine  own, 
Lest  I  with  the  destroying  angel's  blow 

Shall  smite  thee,  flesh  and  bone! 

26 


Children  of  Mars,  be  swift  to  flame  the  light 
Of  Knowledge,  pouring  in  the  oil  of  peace, 

Whose  touch  transmutes  red  watch  fires  to  clear  white. 
Like  leaps  across  to  like,  till  wars  shall  cease. 

Above  your  towers  and  battlements  shall  fall 

Clear  showers  of  starlight  and  pale,  dreaming  skies, 

Breathing  of  flowers  shall  bathe  your  fevered  eyes 
Till  swift  they  sense  the  One  who  lives  in  all, 

And  weighted  flesh  on  free,  glad  wings  shall  rise. 


2/ 


w 


IRIS. 

HEN  May  and  June  have  linked  their  petalled  fingers 
Across  the  garden,  and  the  year  is  glad, 

Down  where  a  butterfly  or  gold  bee  lingers, 
And  lilac  scent  has  made  the  air  half  sad, 

There  rise  from  out  the  midst  of  spear  and  sword  blade, 
The  banners  of  the  lily  maid  of  France, 

As  once  they  floated  from  her  battle  standard, 
Unrent  by  arrow  point  or  spear  or  lance. 

The  white  flag  is  the  banner  of  her  white  heart, 
The  purple  mourns  her  death,  the  shame  of  kings, 

When  men  forget  the  martyred,  broken  body, 
A  flower  shall  droop  its  silken,  petal  wings. 

The  gold  flag  is  the  shining  of  the  glory 

Emblazoning  her  name,  immortally. 
The  white,  the  purple  and  the  golden  banners, 

Earth  lifts  each  year  to  her  sweet  memory. 


28 


T 


BALLAD  TO  FRANCE. 

HE  air  is  soft  as  willow  buds. 

How  cool  the  shadows  play! 
How  sweet,  how  sweet,  O  tender  Christ, 

The  wonder  of  the  May! 


The  clover  breath,  the  poplar  wind, 

How  spirit  pure  are  they! 
Such  dreams,  they  weave  a  pennon 

To  the  wonder  of  the  May! 

Such  dreams  they  are  so  heaven-true. 

They  build  a  portal  wide 
Into  the  upper  airs  of  God 

Where  mysteries  abide! 

They  build  a  magic  portal, 

Where  a  sudden  shaft  shines  through. 
The  light  is  gleaming  golden 

On  the  leafage  and  the  dew. 

O  tender  Christ,  how  wonderful 

The  marvel  of  her  brow, 
And  wrapt  the  eyes  that  meet  the  light 

That  gleams  the  meadows  now! 

29 


How  petal-white  the  little  breast 

Under  the  dull-spun  fold, 
As  veiled  things  the  angels  keep 

For  pure  eyes  to  behold! 

How  like  still  forest  pools  her  eyes, 
And  clear  and  sure  their  look, 

And  swift  and  glad  her  serving  feet 
As  any  singing  brook. 

And  who  shall  speak  how  soft,  how  fine 

The  tender  heart  of  her! 
The  sheep  and  little  lambs  she  kept, 

Less  meek  and  lowly  were. 

Less  soft  and  winter-white  their  fleece 

Than  all  her  gentle  mind, 
And  the  white  prayers  of  fragrant  peace 

It  winged  upon  the  wind! 

O  wings  of  great  archangels, 
How  fervid  bright  your  sheen! 

No  self  is  intercepted 

God  and  her  soul  between. 

You  may  ascend  and  descend 

The  shining,  glorious  stair 
Built  of  her  prayers,  built  of  her  thoughts 

Because  they  are  so  fair. 

30 


Voices  of  great  archangels, 
You  sound  as  true  and  clear 

As  larks  of  her  own  meadows 
The  peasant  children  hear. 

Give  of  your  strength,  give  of  your  might 
Since  you  have  made  the  quest, 

And  guard  and  keep  the  frailness 
Of  the  tender  brow  and  breast. 

The  ways  of  men  and  wars  are  harsh. 

The  clasp  of  silver  mail, 
Could  bruise  a  lily  bud  to  death, 

As  petals  droop  and  fail. 

She  is  a  snow-white,  climbing  rose 
Whose  tendrils  touch  the  sky. 

Upon  the  city  wall  the  rain 
Of  steel  has  passed  her  by. 

The  hail  of  spears  has  fallen 
And  hell  has  blown  its  breath! 

O  God  the  awful  pity 

Of  the  blood  and  pain  and  death! 

God's  be  the  glory  for  the  might 

Of  truth  and  purity! 
How  different  is  the  blackened  night 

From  Spring  in  Domremy! 

31 


And  none  are  brave  who  are  not  pure. 

Only  the  meek  are  strong, 
Undying  in  a  world  of  death 

The  endless  ages  long! 

Swings  high  her  lily  banner. 

Beckons  her  lifted  lance, 
Above  her  unforgotten  fields. 

Somewhere  in  bleeding  France. 


AUGUST,  1914. 


32 


i 


JUPITER. 

"I    have    made    thee    rich.      Why 

makest   them   thyself   poor?" 

BLAZE  my  light  upon  their  battened  door, 
They  neither  see  nor  rouse  them  from  the  sleep 
That  drugs  the  flesh,  wrapped  in  its  rags  of  sense, 
Nor  heed  how  I,  my  flaming  vigils  keep. 
Their  roots  are  struck  in  clay,  on  husks  they  feed, 
Consumed  of  heartbreak,  mad  with  discontent; 
Heaven-clear  my  beacon  burns  above  their  need. 
Into  their  depths  my  silver  light  is  sent. 

There  is  a  vision  far  and  far  beyond 
The  place  of  pity,  where  I  flash  my  rays. 

0  pity  that  they  brought  the  blight  of  greed, 
And  lost  their  vision  of  the  living  springs 
Which  press  their  low,  half -whispered  want  to  feed. 
They  have  reared  bulwarks  out  of  self  and  sense, 
Out  of  the  sands  of  unredeemed  desire. 

Their  children  hate,  and  live  with  bitterness. 
Upbraiding  Justice  prisoned  in  the  mire. 

1  wait  for  him  who  says  "I  will  arise,'* 
Unfolds  the  wrappings  from  his  splendid  soul, 
And  washes  clean  the  clay  from  his  blind  eyes, 
And  out  of  matter  lifts  a  treasured  goal. 

33 


I  wait  for  this  birth-hour  which  shall  reveal 

The  firmament  beneath  his  body's  cloak, 

Wherein  I  glow,  a  deep-set,  buried  jewel, 

As  acorns  wrap  the  branches  of  the  oak. 

When  he  shall  cease  to  blame  the  sting  of  want, 

The  stain  of  squalor  and  the  cramping  grind 

Of  drudgery,  and  all  the  outer  cause, 

And  in  himself  my  gleaming  beauty  find, 

Lending  his  lowly  roof,  breaking  his  crust  to  share* 

Knowing  the  thrill  of  service  meekly  given, 

My  light  shall  burn  its  way  through  all  his  bonds 

And  bind  him  to  the  morning  star  of  heaven, 

And  be  the  touchstone  in  himself  revealed, 

A  saving  arm  its  level,  lightning  beam, 

Pouring  all  lasting  riches  in  his  hands, 

Who  wakes  from  out  his  heavy,  earth-bound  dream. 


34 


o 


GOLD  HEART. 

LITTLE  sister  Gold  Heart, 

Of  tender  witchery, 
I  long  ago  had  lost  the  fight 

Had  you  not  trusted  me. 
You  speak  the  name  of  Courage 

And  I  am  strong  as  ten. 
You  only  hint  you  love  me, 

I  rise  like  fighting  men. 
You  only  point  a  narrow  way 

Straight  as  the  Christ-man  trod, 
And  flaming  forth,  a  blinding  ray 

Connects  my  mind  with  God. 

O  little  sister  Gold  Heart 
Out  pouring  all  your  gold, 

Life  guard  you  and  return  to  you 
Your  own  gifts  manifold! 


35 


ON  A  PORTRAIT  OF  THE  YOUNG  EARL 
OFC . 

WEET  as  the  prince  in  books  of  fairy  tales, 

With  the  far  look  of  child  dreams  in  your  eyes, 
What  do  you  see  of  valorous  deeds  to  do 
Under  your  English  skies? 

Terror  of  dragons,  moats  impassable, 

Wrongs  of  the  weak  and  innocent  to  right, 
Have  these  all  passed  into  the  yesterdays 

With  sword  and  belted  knight? 

Most  fairly  fashioned  and  made  beautiful 

With  such  sweet  youth,  what  valorous  deeds  to  do, 
What  wrongs  to  right  with  all  the  princely  grace 
Life  has  bestowed  on  you? 


SHAWINIGAN,  QUEBEC,  1903. 


36 


THE  ISLAND  KING. 

WREATH  on  your  head  of  ilima  and  maile, 

The  rain  on  your  face,  in  your  throat  a  soft  song, 

A  laugh  on  your  lips,  in  your  heart  the  aloha, 
A  gift  in  your  hand  as  you  wander  along. 

O  big,  kindly  child  of  your  laughter-lit  islands, 
You  dance  in  the  light  and  you  play  in  the  sea, 

Who  have  given  your  kingdom  away  to  the  stranger, 
To  win  an  inheritance  greater  than  he. 

Majestic  and  beautiful  child  of  the  chieftains, 
With  nothing  of  earth  and  the  bearing  of  kings, 

So  happy,  so  tragic,  care-free  of  tomorrow, 

The  gold's  in  your  heart  as  you  sing  to  your  strings. 


HONOLULU,  JANUARY  27,  1917. 


37 


SATURN. 

J  LOW-MOVING,  quiet  one,  take  my  offered  hand 

And  lead  the  way,  for  I  am  friends  with  thec. 
Reaper  inexorable,  since  I  have  brought 
A  fearless  heart,  unveil  thy  face  to  me! 

Thy  cheeks  are  furrowed  with  the  Ages'  tears. 

Scant  share  you  give  of  love,  your  step  is  slow. 
Subduer  of  the  Soul,  how  many  shun 

The  realm  you  rule  of  buffeting  and  woe! 

But  only  grant  me  this,  O  you  who  reap 
What  is  already  sown  of  love  and  hate: 

Grant  I  may  bear  with  me  a  lifted  torch, 
Cold  Guardian  Angel  of  the  outer  gate. 

A  light  for  dying  hopes  that  else  were  blind, 

Out  where  they  thirst  and  faint,  and  fight  and  fall; 

A  light  to  pierce  the  dark  ways  of  the  mind 
On  some  strong  stanchion  of  the  outer  wall ! 

It  is  not  pity  that  a  strong  heart  asks, 

Knowing  that  thou,  the  Reaper  art  the  Law, 

And  that  each  weaver  must  his  separate  tasks, 
But  grant  the  light  to  see  the  pattern's  flaw! 

38 


o 


TO  MY  POET  FRIEND. 

(W.  L.  S.) 

I  WAS  young,  and  you  seemed  very  old! 
You  wore  a  silver  crown  and  mine  was  gold. 

You  thought  me  fair  and  sweet,  I  thought  you  wise. 
We  looked  at  life  through  very  different  eyes. 

My  feet  were  winged  and  yours  were  halting  slow 
When  we  went  roaming  where  the  violets  grow. 

And  well  we  knew  the  place  the  wind-flowers  blew, 
And  every  May  your  old  heart  blossomed  new, 

And  all  its  little,  lilting  songs  were  sung 
Perhaps  because  you  felt  that  I  was  young. 

Now  trenchant  Time  has  tossed  your  quaint  rhymes  by 
Which  no  one  ever  cherished  more  than  I, 

And  since  your  too  reluctant  feet  moved  on, 
I  have  recalled  you  often,  being  gone. 

And  thought  that  since  those  new  fields  you  behold, 
You  now  may  be  so  young  you  think  me  old. 


39 


LINES  ON  A  GOLDEN  WEDDING. 

To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kenneth  Melrosc. 

those  whose  lives  are  given  to  serve, 

There  is  no  time. 
Days  flow  together  like  clear  streams  in  summer. 
Or  notes  to  music,  or  words  that  rhyme. 

Fair  deeds  and  saving  words  what  years  can  measure. 

Or  time  make  dull? 
From  such  as  these  are  coined  Love's  priceless  treasure. 

For  you  made  full. 

WTiat  span  shall  mark  the  length  of  high  endeavor. 
Or  break  its  cord  of  gold? 

Those  whom  it  binds  to  God's  unveiled  Forever, 
Faint  not,  nor  yet  grow  old. 


40 


THE  BLANKET-MEN  ON  THE  HIGHWAY. 

GRAY  as  the  dust  through  which  they  trudge, 
With  steps  as  slow  as  the  mind  of  man 
To  wake  to  the  crimes  he  daily  lives 
Against  himself. 

Stooped  and  bent  as  the  warped  ideal 
The  whole  mass  has  of  its  own  dire  need 
To  lift  the  thing  it  spurns. 

Old,  like  man's  inhumanity. 

Gray,  slow  and  stooped  and  bent  and  old, 

The  shadow-shape 
Always  and  ever  there  beside 
The  flowering,  fragrant  fields, — 
The  gentle,  patient  spectre 
Treading  the  border  of  all  happiness, 
To  temper  Love  and  Laughter, 
To  dim  the  rays  from  Fortune's  blazing  cyei. 


SAN  JOAQUIN  VALLEY,  APRIL,  1917. 


41 


A 


DUSK. 

ND  no  pale  ember  lights  the  dying  day. 

Fear  has  unloosed  her  troop  of  shadow  things. 
Yet  who  that  has  not  sensed  the  dark  shall  say 

What  peace  the  glowing  dawn  bears  on  her  wings! 


DAWN. 

THE  curtain,  made  of  mist  of  dawn, 
Is  pinned  back  with  a  star  or  two. 
Night  flung  a  fleece-white  carpet  down. 
The  vestal  Day  is  passing  through. 


42 


URANUS. 

Earth  Voice: 

O  magic  star  of  conscious  knowledge  rise 
Upon  our  strange  and  variable  world! 
What  says  the  genius  of  your  mystic  light, 
Whose  signals  flashing  on  our  drooping  sight, 
Make  visible  the  ray  imperishable 
That  binds  and  holds  us  to  our  home  in  God? 

The  Star: 

I  am  the  Knower  in  the  sea  of  Light, 

Where  varied  streams  of  truth  and  wisdom  meet; 

Where  ebb  and  flood  tide  rhythmically  swing 

To  common  center,  being  ever  one. 

Look  not  for  me  in  space,  who  fills  all  space 

Between  the  high,  white  stars, 
Nor  wait  for  me  in  time,  who  knows  it  not. 
Within  my  glowing  heart,  I  steadfast  keep 
The  covenant  of  Father  with  the  Son — 
This — that  you  yet  shall  know  as  you  are  known; 
And  faithful  is  the  One  who  promises. 
My  gift  is  that  clear,  self-revealed  jewel, 
Set  like  a  third  eye  in  the  seeker's  forehead, 
The  gift  of  undimmed  revelation's  light. 
"Dark  Angel"  am  I  called  by  the  unknowing; 
They,  who  have  built  their  gods  and  images 

Out  of  the  dust  of  ignorance. 

43 


These,  whom  I  love,  I  smite,  and  though  I  cleave 
Thy  very  soul  and  spirit,  that  which  lives 

Is  the  Imperishable, 

Fire  may  not  burn,  nor  water  drown,  nor  evil  blight. 
Swift  chisel  blows  shatter  the  sculptor's  stone. 
That  his  imprisoned  angel  may  go  free. 
Within  the  compass  of  my  flaming  sword, 
Whose  blade  is  bathed  in  Light,  lies  Paradise. 

Look  to  thine  heart  if  it  be  like  the  bloom 

Of  lotus  flowers  unveiling  to  the  sky. 

Petal  by  petal,  waxen  like  with  prayer, 

And  at  the  center,  gold  of  Love  Divine, 

Fused  in  the  driving  flame  of  hallowed  deeds. 

For  such  as  these  I  open  wide  the  way 

Into  untroubled  seas  of  open  vision, 

Beyond  the  shore-line  of  the  outer  sense, 

A  moment's  journey  back  of  quiet  eyes, 

Where  peace  is  born  of  Knowledge  and  of  Truth. 


44 


PARADOX. 

O  WEET  is  the  valley  wide  and  deep, 
^   With  scent  of  every  growing  thing. 
Beyond,  the  orchard  armies  climb, 
Green  regiments  maneuvering. 
Out  there  the  redwood  forests  lie, 
And  miles  of  solemn  spires  uplift. 
The  sands  behind  stretch  white  and  wan, 
Where  breakers  curl  into  the  sky, 
And  ships  sail  out  to  where  the  sun 
Drops  down  to  light  the  Orient's  face. 
Yet  we,  both  you  and  I,  know  well 
There  is  no  space! 


Looking  out  to  sea  from  the  heart 

of  the  Santa  Cruz  Mountains. 


JUNE,  1913. 


45 


A 


THE  CUP. 

"Whether  at  Naishapur  or  Babylon, 
And   if  the  cup   with   sweet  or  bitter   run." 

— Rubaiyat. 

ND  fallen  Babylon  is  sifted  dust 

And  Naishapur  as  rose-leaves  blown  away. 

To  the  strong  hand  that  holds  the  weaving  cord, 
A  thousand  years  are  even  as  a  day. 

A  thousand  times  has  sweet  life  brimmed  the  cup, 
The  cup  been  broken,  and  the  wine  been  spilled, 

And  patient  love  regathered  it  again, 

And  with  itself  a  new,  fair  vessel  filled. 

Was  it  for  this  the  dregs  ran  bitter  rue, 

The  leas  brimmed  red  with  measured  joy  and  pain? 
That  out  of  tested  knowledge  One  should  rise 

And  sift  the  fragments  and  rebuild  again! 

Is  it  for  this,  O  Lover  Infinite, 

The  over-flowing  cup  of  bitter-sweet, 
The  spear-thrust,  and  the  whole  earth's  travail  pang, 

All  drooping  heads,  all  pierced  hands  and  feet? 

Then  out  of  memory  of  flame-white  thought, 
Weave  with  all  haste  the  holy  samite  veil, 

For  eyes  too  used  to  twilight  open  wide 
To  look  upon  the  cup,  and  see  the  Grail! 

46 


o 


INTEGER  VITAE. 

NE  came  to  me  with  love-lit,  flower-wreathed  head, 
A  face  with  shimmering  laughter  over-spread, 
A  golden  robe  of  youth,  with  blossoms  wrought, 
All  clasped  with  little  jewels  of  idle  thought. 
"You  have  forgot  me  soon,"  she  whispered  low. 
(She  was  my  other  self  of  days  ago.) 
"You  who  loved  love  so,  laughter,  and  the  praise 
Of  friendly  eyes,  and  all  the  pleasant  ways, 
Do  you  recall  how  blithe  the  meadows  were, 
How  cool  the  wood,  the  fern,  the  forest  fir? 
Does  beauty  not  rejoice  you  any  more, 
That  you  forget  me,  and  the  days  of  yore?** 
(She  leaned  so  close,  the  twilight  shadows  through, 
Her  coaxing  eyes  wore  mist,  as  violets,  dew.) 

0  sweet  idolater,  you  cannot  see 

With  the  new  vision  Love  bestows  on  me! 
The  tenderness  we  shared  in  flower  and  leaf 

1  seek  now  in  the  magdalen  and  thief. 
Caresses  that  we  gave  the  meadow  grass 
I  save  for  all  the  weary  ones  who  pass, 
And  all  the  fragrances  of  hedge  and  lane, 
As  blest  anointing  do  I  use  again. 

You,  who  are  less  than  shadow,  count  it  true, 
Love  forgets  nothing  which  Love's  spirit  knew. 
This  is  my  answer,  wide  I  fling  the  door. 
Go,  without  bitterness,  and  come  no  more! 

47 


i 


NEPTUNE. 

KNOW  a  star  that  rises  in  the  sea, 

Out  of  the  East  of  unformed  promises. 
Out  of  the  East  it  glows  translucently, 

Marking  the  point  of  light,  of  things-to-be. 

Fair,  with  the  clearness  of  the  crystal  dew, 

The  diamond's  steel  its  living,  vibrant  blue, 

Its  center  blinding  pure,  as  altar  flame 

Glows  when  white  nuns  have  said  a  nameless  Name. 

If,  as  is  said,  its  quivered  beams  shall  fall 

Like  silver  arrows,  far  aslant  the  wall 

That  holds  the  sandalled  pilgrim  to  his  way, 
His  holden  eyes  were  blinded  by  its  ray. 

So  there  are  stars  whose  strange,  attenuate  light 

Has  not  yet  reached  the  earth-bound  travellers'  sight. 

I  know  a  star  that  moves  with  majesty 

Across  the  heaven's  night  of  mortal  thought, 

Glowing  with  fire  of  Love's  persistency 

Above  the  lowliest  place,  men  set  at  naught, 

Above  the  least  discerned,  unheeded  place, 

It  clothes  the  clay,  and  deifies  its  face. 

So  does  it  rise  upon  the  sea  of  woe, 

Treading  the  waves,  leaving  its  path  of  light, 
As  one  whose  garments  make  a  trail  snow-white 

Through  murky,  shadow  places  as  they  go. 

48 


It  leads,  O  God,  adown  abysmal  dark, 

Into  the  desert  trail  of  loneliness, 
And  vigil  silences,  all  white  and  stark 

Where  Strength  is  fused  deep  in  the  soul's  recess. 

Whoever  it  shall  shine  its  light  upon, 
It  is  as  if  some  strong,  great,  angel  wing 

Had  touched  him,  pointing  sternly  up  and  on, 
So  that  he  can  but  heed  its  summoning. 

If  he  but  see  with  slow,  half-opened  eyes 
The  faint,  pale  nimbus  of  the  outer  rim, 

Straightway  he  must  from  his  dull  sleep  arise. 
No  more  unthinking  hours  shall  be  for  him. 

He  must  needs  follow,  and  if  he  shall  keep 

Some  treasured  evil,  hidden  still  and  deep, 

His  star,  straight  piercing  through  the  veil  of  sense, 
Shall  sear  to  whitest  ash,  his  poor  defense. 

Its  jealous,  molten  beam  with  light  alone 

Transmutes  to  flame,  that  which  is  not  its  own. 

What  of  the  caravan  that  follows  thee, 
O  risen  light-bearer  above  the  sea? 

Above  the  fretted  sea  of  aims  and  fears 

Mortal  delusions,  unillumined  years, 
The  magi  see  behind  the  outer  veil, 
And  shepherd  hearts  still  trace  the  hidden  trail. 

49 


Beauty,  frankincense  of  the  Spirit's  breath, 

Strong  myrrh  of  faith  to  fold  the  face  of  death. 
Fused,  molten  gold  of  selflessness  they  bring 
To  build  the  race  of  God  whose  light  shall  spring 

Full-glowing  from  the  fervor  of  thy  ray. 

Who  sees  shall  heed,  who  feels  shall  yet  obey. 


50 


i 


THE  GUEST. 

MADE  my  heart  into  a  silent  thing. 
"Come,  be  you  hushed,'*  I  said,  "of  clamoring." 
There  came  such  stillness,  one  could  hear 
White  spirits  on  the  wing. 
Hidden  in  robes  of  light  One  draweth  nigh. 
"Who  comes?"    "The  Prince  of  power  and  peace  am  I." 
I  ask  of  him  what  lowly  entrance  by. 

"Not  flower-starred  path  or  gate  all  garlanded 

Nor  through  the  noise  of  thine  heart's  throng  and  press. 

The  Ever-silent  is  to  silence  wed. 

I  enter  through  the  door  of  emptiness." 


51 


M 


NAMASTA!* 

ARVEL  of  God,  how  clean  the  Spirit  in  me 
Pierces  my  outer  wrappings,  and  false  seams 
To  a  white  center,  where  there  vivid  glows 
Like  light,  translucent  through  the  silken  sheath 
Of  leaf-buds  newly  born,  the  Self  of  you! 
O  Love  Divine,  that  even  through  human  eyes, 
Can  rend  the  sordid  fabric,  woven  of  lies 
And  ghost  delusions,  till  they  yield  at  last 
Their  thickened  mesh,  like  shadow  at  white  noon. 
So  strong  with  living  power  your  Spirit  gleams 
That  massive  strength  of  body  only  seems 

A  fragile  shell  beside  it, 
And  your  shadow-self  but  a  pale  stranger 
Dwelling  upon  the  threshold  of  your  door. 

How  often  and  how  eager,  serving  hands 
Yearn  to  unclasp  the  outer  garment's  fold, 
Which,  to  your  outer  sense,  would  bind  at  times, 

And  weigh  like  metalled  mail. 
Yet  eager  hands,  the  while,  must  wait  the  Law, 
Which  wraps  the  joyous  lily  in  the  earth, 
Until  its  own  flame  at  its  living  heart, 
Shall  burn  its  way  through  black  and  deadened  husk, 
Into  the  lifted  glory  of  its  flower. 

*Hindu  salutation:    The  Divine  in  me  greets  the  Divine  in  thee! 

52 


Beloved,  this  your  destiny!     Even  now 
The  glory  is  upon  us,  that  the  Self 
Of  me,  which  folds  the  prisoned  lily  close, 
The  One  who  laid  the  snow  on  mountain  crests, 
And  called  clear  water  out  of  desert  springs, 
Looks  on  the  Self  of  you,  as  in  a  glass, 
And  knows  the  Eternal  One. 


53 


UPLANDS. 

BELOVED,  have  we  found  the  upland  trail, 
Emerged  at  last  from  mist  and  shadowing  hill? 
The  God  of  destinies  whose  laws  fulfill 
The  ways  of  love,  does  that  One  not  prevail? 

Strange  journey,  what  though  its  beginning  lay 
As  far  as  some  faint,  distant-lying  star, 

If  it  has  come  the  open,  upland  way 

Where  lifted  eyes  and  certain  knowing  are! 

Look  out  and  see  the  wide  horizon's  rim, 
Completed  circle  of  the  cosmic  chain, 
Ocean's  infinity  and  flower-lit  plain 

And  purple  hills  like  clouds,  float  soft  and  dim. 

Beloved,  have  we  found  the  upland  ways, 
Fearless  with  vision,  leaving  realms  below 

Like  faint-remembered  gardens  of  lost  days, 

Where  swooning-sweet,  the  mourning  lilacs  grow? 

Lost  tints  of  dawn,  shades  of  the  sunset  glow, 
Hold  in  the  white  light  of  the  open  sky. 

All  loves  are  theirs,  who  may  the  Christ-love  know, 
All  pilgrim  paths  meet  on  the  uplands  high. 


54 


TO  ANY  GALAHAD. 

'OUL,  make  you  a  distant  journey, 
'     As  one  who  fares  alone? 
Seek  you  across  the  land, 

Beyond  the  sea,  the  Holy  One? 

Look  you,  the  seas  are  wide,  my  soul, 

The  land  is  steep  and  far, 
And  zeal  would  drive  you  out  beyond, 

Where  storm  and  tempest  are. 

Heed  you,  and  bide  in  peace,  my  soul. 

Stay  you  the  journey's  quest. 
E'en  now,  within  the  ship  there  bides 

A  sweet  and  silent  guest. 

Halt  then,  the  straining  search  a  space, 

Turn  you  all  joyfully. 
Close  in  thyself  behold  the  One 

You  fare  so  far  to  see. 


55 


THE  BEDOUIN  IN  THE  DESERT. 

GOD  grant  my  soul  and  body  may  be  white. 
Through  darkness  have  I  come  with  little  strength, 
And  I  have  found  the  way  a  weary  length 
Fighting  strange  shadows,  fearing  in  the  night. 
Somewhere  stretch  peaks,  where  snow  in  summer  lies. 
As  wings  of  gulls  unstained  have  kept  their  flight, 
As  starlight  filtering  from  winter  skies 
Comes  as  white  starlight  to  my  dust-dimmed  sight, 
So  keep  my  soul  upon  its  earth-marred  way. 
I  love  Thy  courts,  though  frail  the  love  I  bring. 
The  tents  of  those  who  love  Thee  not  delay 
My  lagging  feet,  with  foolish  loitering; 
Yet  with  my  little  strength,  ere  it  be  spent, 
I  lift  my  soul,  Lord  God  Omnipotent! 


56 


OUT  OF  THE  MISTS. 

I  SEE  things  not  as  they  appear, 
I  hear  the  sounds  that  all  men  hear. 
As  one  in  drunken  dreams  I  rove, 
Yet  with  no  power  to  change  or  move. 


Then  call  me  as  a  trumpet  calls 
A  fainting  soldier's  laggard  heart, 

And  I  will  answer  though  I  wrench 
The  baffling  walls  of  death  apart. 

How  long  they  sleep  who  lay  them  down 
Before  the  work  of  time  is  done! 

There  is  no  hour  for  lives  to  break 
Between  the  dawn  and  sunset  gun. 

Great  God  of  universal  things, 

Give  me  the  life  and  will  to  work! 

Let  me  close  up  the  gaping  line, 

Forsake  the  shades  where  dreamers  shirk. 

How  long  they  sleep  who  sink  to  rest 
Before  the  hour  of  battle  won, 

Tempted  to  have  the  brown  earth's  breast 
To  lay  the  beaten  head  upon! 

57 


Yea,  God  of  universal  things, 

I  no  more  care  what  world,  nor  crave 
The  long,  soft  days,  the  purple  seas, 

The  slant  of  moonbeams  on  the  wave, 

The  coming  of  the  early  light 

And  sights  and  sounds  of  sunlit  day, 

The  misty  coolness  of  the  night, 
The  unforeseeing,  human  way. 

I  have  forgotten  half  I  learned 
In  tenure  long  of  time  and  stress. 

Why  did  life  put  me  numb  asleep, 
Night  blot  the  day's  white  loveliness? 

How  long  to  wait  the  soul's  release, 
And  by  what  chance  do  epochs  end? 

Shall  any  turn  of  strife  or  peace 
Bring  out  to  me  one  saving  friend? 

How  dim  and  far  the  old  way  seems 
To  one  who  waits  and  gropes  so  long, 

Dreaming  his  heavy,  drunken  dreams, 
Twisting  the  threads  of  right  and  wrong! 

The  light  flares  faint,  a  smouldered  spark, 
From  out  the  long-gone  world  of  things. 

Who  was  it  went  into  the  dark, 
I,  or  my  world  of  wanderings? 

58 


i 


SEA  VOICES. 

HEAR  a  thousand  voices  in  the  sea. 
The  passing  peace  of  crooning,  cradle  songs, 
Lost  in  the  wild,  free  laughter  of  the  child, 
Where  slipping  shallows,  trill  to  opal  pools. 
The  sullen  murmuring  of  souls  at  war 
With  God,  themselves  and  shifting  destiny; 
Dull,  futile  anger,  smiting  at  the  shore, 
And  hushed  and  soft,  the  whisper  of  the  spray 
Brings  lovers'  voices,  undismayed,  apart 
From  world  confusions,  chafing  at  the  heart. 

Sounds  of  soft  crying,  back  of  dreamers'  tears, 
Whose  dreams  go  down  to  chaos,  and  the  sharp, 
Half-stifled  cry  for  freedom,  in  the  Soul. 
Solemn,  the  Spirit's  valiant  battle-song 
Of  evil  conquered,  flings  its  vibrant  note. 
The  deeps  of  blue,  tender  and  infinite 
Cover  the  silent,  never-spoken  words 
Heard  only  in  the  souls  of  dear-loved  friends. 

I  hear  a  thousand,  mingled  voices  blend 
Into  one  urging  Voice,  transcendent  strong, 
Calling  from  out  the  depths  of  men  and  things, 
Out  of  the  sea  of  change  and  restlessness, 

59 


Out  of  the  fevered  sleep  of  fear  and  stress, 
"I,  I  am  in  the  midst  of  thee  whose  arm 
Holds  and  controls  the  ebb  and  flow  of  tides. 
Within  thy  chaos  lies  My  rhythmic  law 
Unbroken  and  uncheated  of  its  end. 


60 


ALLEN  SEELEN. 

''HE  yellow  maples  sift  their  golden  leaves, 

October  sunlight  flames  the  woodland  through. 
Bright  grass  but  for  a  space  has  touched  the  hill 
And  all  the  colors  signal  me  of  you. 

The  wild  rose  by  the  spring's  but  tangled  briar — 
This  is  your  path,  the  meadow  brook  beside, 

And  then  the  sombre  road  a  little  way, 
And  then,  I  see  the  gateway  open  wide. 

O  yes,  I  know  so  well  I  shall  not  hear 

You  laugh  your  welcome  through  the  open  door. 

My  heart  has  learned,  yet  reaches  searchingly. 
I  know,  and  yet  I  turn  for  one  face  more. 

They  have  grown  gentler  since  you  went  away, 
(Your  step  is  O,  so  light  they  do  not  know 

The  kiss  you  give  me  sweet  and  mistily, 
The  sun  upon  your  hair,  your  eyes  aglow.) 


61 


SILENCE. 

'HE  fragrance  of  the  garden  every  year 
Makes  me  remember,  dear, 
The  fragrance  of  your  years  and  how  you  went 
With  eyes   unfearing,   youth-days   still   unspent. 
The  fragrance  of  the  garden,  and  the  note 
Of  some  leaf-hidden  robin,  in  whose  throat 
Are  mingled  joy  and  tears,  remind  me  how 
You  were  so  glad — you  are  so  silent  now. 


62 


w 


MOUNTAIN  LILAC. 

HAT  see  you  adream  on  the  mountain's  breast, 

Than  the  hue  of  the  dawn  more  fair? 

Little  clouds  adrift  that  the  wind  shall  lift 

To  fade  in  the  April  air? 

All  shimmering  pale  as  a  wind-blown  veil 

By  a  fleeing  goddess  worn, 

So  silvery  sweet  the  lilac  bloom 

Lies  caught  in  its  tangled  thorn. 


63 


w 


WILD  FORGET-ME-NOTS. 

IILD,  blowing  things  on  the  windy  hill, 

Blithe  in  the  fresh,  spring  weather, 

What  did  you  say  on  a  glad,  free  day 

When  two  friends  came  together? 

What  are  the  words  that  I  almost  hear 
When  the  March-time  comes  each  year? 

"Once  we  were  blue  with  the  heaven's  hue, 
Growing  brave,  in  the  fresh,  clean  air, 

And  the  trail's  strong  light 

Turned  us  virgin  white 
In  its  purifying  glare." 

Sweet  prophets,  what  counsel  gave  you  to  me 
When  the  noon  beat  high,  and  the  wind  was  free? 

"Forget  me  not  if  the  trail  lead  far 

Into  ways  where  no  star-faced  flowers  are. 

And  gird  you  with  wisdom  and  gird  you  with  strength, 

If  the  trail  have  a  sinuous,  wearying  length. 

The  valley,  mist-shadowed,  leads  out  to  a  hill. 

Forget  not  the  steadfastness  faith  must  fulfill, 

And  that  once  we  were  blue  as  the  sky  and  the  sea, 

And  that  now  we  are  white  as  your  soul  longs  to  be. 

Rest  not,  with  strong  feet  on  the  trail,  face  the  light 

Till  the  blue-glowing  flame  in  your  lantern  burns  white." 

64 


LOBELIA. 

R  AGILE,  flimsy,  spirit  flower 

Burning  out  your  strange,  blue  flame, 

It  was  in  a  dreaming  hour 
That  you  came. 

Quivering,  doubtfully  you  grew, 

Seeming  not  to  understand, 
All  the  while  enfolding  you 

A  divine,  great  hand. 

Planned  it  not  a  pleasant  place? 

Love  that  lit,  and  warmed  and  fed, 
Faith  that  watered  out  of  grace, 

Lavishly  the  garden  bed? 

Lithe,  mysterious,  garden  child, 
Flouting  even  love  and  faith, 

For  the  joy  of  growing  wild, 
Fading  like  a  misty  wraith. 

Vivid,  strange,  evasive  thing, 
Open  out  your  monkish  hood. 

Drink  while  faith  is  watering, 
Take  the  gift  of  love  for  food. 

65 


Bide  within  and  light  your  fire. 

Angel  feet  may  pass  you  by. 

While  you  wander,  wilfully, 
What  if  love  should  tire? 

Winds  are  harsh  when  flowers  are  frail. 

What  if  faith  should  fail! 


66 


A 


CHELA. 

S  Joseph's  coat  was  wrought  of  many  colors, 
As  stars  flash  beams  the  banded  prism  through, 

As  sun-darts  glint  the  face  of  running  waters. 
So  gleams  the  spirit's  varied  light  through  you. 

Your  world  the  hidden  kingdom  is,  behind  you. 

Infinite  Hinterland  of  silent  things. 
Abide  in  it  until  its  Lord  shall  find  you. 

Rise  with  the  strength  of  steadfast,  soaring  wings. 

Treasure  unnamed,  unguessed,  your  hands  shall  gather. 

Your  heart  the  source  shall  be  of  living  springs. 
Your  mind  shall  burn  the  straight,  white  beam  of 
Knowing 

Into  the  crying,  suppliant  need  of  things. 


67 


ST.  JOSEPH'S  LILY. 

LL  of  the  light  that  sifts  from  stars  and  planets 

Upon  the  mountain's  breast,  the  changeless  snows, 
All  of  the  gleams  that  flash  from  sails  awinging, 
Thy  spirit  knows. 

All  censer  smoke  before  dim,  virgin  altars, 

All    flame-pure    thought,    that    swift    shall    vanquish 

death, 

Incense  of  praise,  sweetness  of  singing  children, 
Are  in  thy  breath. 

All  of  the  gold  in  deepest,  hidden  places, 

Or  gleaming  walls  of  Solomon  have  worn, 
Or  fused  in  souls'  white  crucibles  of  sorrow, 
Thy  heart  has  borne. 

And  never  didst  thou  strive,  the  victory 
Is  that  fair  peace  held  in  thy  lifted  cup. 

In  stillness  has  the  spirit  lit  thy  light. 

The  mystery  of  love  has  raised  thee  up. 


68 


o 


THE  URGE. 

1UT  of  high  vision. 
Substance  of  faith's  prayer, 

And  vigils  only  watching  stars  did  see, 
One  bid  me  work  and  consecrate  and  weave 
Something  to  set  you  free. 

Into  the  vigil  and  the  faith  and  prayer 
I  wove  myself,  and  saw  the  fetters  fall. 

Freedom  forgets  how  soon  the  chafing  iron, 
The  leaden  heart,  the  looming  prison  wall! 

One  set  you  free  although  you  could  forget. 

The  stars  remember,  vigil  stars  and  I. 
And  still  One  bids  me  work  and  weave  and  love. 
God  knoweth  why. 


69 


TO  A  LITTLE  BOY  GROWN  UP. 


H 


ERE'S  to  the  sea-shore,  "Alice"  days 
When  we  talked  about  the  whiting, 
The  walrus  and  the  carpenter 
And  fairies,  giants  and  fighting. 
Here's  to  the  coming  glorious  days, 
Strong  hopes  and  high  endeavor. 
Colors  to  win,  good  faith  to  keep. 
Forever  and  forever! 


70 


i 


CHIMES. 

(Triolet) 

N  the  silent  night-time, 
When  the  air  is  still, 
Then  I  hear  the  bells  chime, 
In  the  silent  night-time, 
Sounding  like  an  old  rhyme 

Sung  across  the  hill, 
In  the  silent  night-time 
When  the  air  is  still. 


71 


SONG  OF  CANDLE-LIGHT. 


w 


ITHIN  me  in  a  place  apart, 

A  cloistered  corner  of  my  heart, 

For  you  I  keep  a  candle  lit 

Whenever  you  shall  turn  to  it. 

It  is  a  still  and  steady  flame 

That  lights  when  I  have  thought  your  name. 

For  you  I  keep  a  candle  lit, 

And  even  though  you  turn  from  it, 

It  glows  the  same, — the  same. 


72 


TO  BENNIE  ON  ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY. 

IN  this  land  of  no  thatched  roofs  or  fairies, 
That  doesn't  stay  green  very  long, 
In  the  land  that's  way  over  the  prairies, 
The  love  of  a  friend's  just  as  strong. 
They  say  hearts  are  big  in  old  Ireland, 
And  perhaps  on  the  whole  it  is  true, 
But  out  in  the  land  of  the  poppies, 
There's  plenty  of  heart-room  for  you. 


73 


SONG. 

(To  Kipikane) 

THERE  is  blazing  light  where  your  islands  lie, 
And  veils  of  cataracts  cloudward  fly, 
And  the  sunlight  drenches  the  thick-meshed  grass 
And  the  ships  to  the  far  east  silent  pass, 
And  cocoa  palms  swing  their  signals  high, 
Against  the  sky. 

The  looming  range,  like  a  purple  cloud, 
Shakes  the  rain  and  wind  in  the  canyon  loud, 
And  the  bow  of  the  bended  rainbow  span, 
Joins  the  arc  of  God  to  the  heart  of  man. 
And  the  silver  plumes  on  the  miles  of  cane, 
Stand  tall  in  the  sun,  swing  cool  in  the  rain, 
They  float  on  the  wind  as  the  feathered  foam, 
And  brown,  bare  feet  go  wending  home, 
And  bent  backs  rise  from  the  taro  patch, 
The  nets  hang  wet  by  the  fisher's  thatch. 

The  sky  is  a  burnished  copper  bowl. 
The  clouds  ride  through  like  the  winging  soul. 
The  wind  lies  still  and  the  stars  gleam  white. 
On  the  islands  falls  the  night. 

HONOLULU,  DECEMBER,  1916, 

74 


TO  MY  COMRADE-AT-ARMS. 

'T'ODAY  I  am  in  love  with  you, — today 
*  There's  something  in  the  tender,  tilting  sway, 
Of  brooding  branches,  makes  me  also  lean 
To  touch  you,  as  the  leaves  and  winds  caress. 
O  sweet  the  lure,  the  lure  that  pulses  through 
The  clear,  insistent  call  of  linnets*  throats, — 

Such  glad  and  plaintive  notes, — 
That  brings  me  swift  to  cover 
Of  your  strong,  clean  heart,  my  lover. 
Today  I  am  in  truth  in  love  with  you. 

Tomorrow,  God,  tomorrow!     Who  shall  say 
What  symbol  stalwart  Destiny  doth  hold 
Half  hidden  in  her  muffled  garment's  fold. 

Is  it  a  cross  or  scourge? 
Already  she  has  beckoned,  and  we  rise 
To  face  our  work  with  undeluded  eyes, 
Stung  by  the  lash  of  all  the  Ages'  pain, 
Lit  by  a  torch  we  know  can  never  pale, 
Girded  with  armored  faith  in  Right  which  lends 

Strength  to  endure,  alone. 

O  Love,  may  we  not  keep  of  this  today 
Treasure  and  joyousness  of  all  it  holds? 
Or  in  relinquishment  of  that,  our  own, 
Do  we  attain  to  that  vast  world  of  Light 
Where  every  hungry  heart  is  ours  to  feed? 

75 


Where  every  pulsing  ardor  shall  be  met 
With  waters  of  that  satisfying  spring, 
Which,  waiting  lies  so  still  in  us  today, — 
And  for  tomorrow  and  her  awful  need, 
May  widen  to  an  ocean  infinite. 


JULY,  1917. 


76 


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